


Retreat

by Shaples



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Abe has zero self awareness, Gen, Misuse of school resources, Secret Santa, Sleepovers, Training Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 21:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaples/pseuds/Shaples
Summary: The worst part about training camp is trying to sleep in a small room full of teenage boys. Abe's about ready to sleep outside, but Hanai has a better idea.





	Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> This Secret Santa is so late it's almost a Secret Valentine's Day present, but I hope you enjoy it @pkaykim!

There was a light still on somewhere inside, shining faintly through the rice paper windows. The patter of moths battering themselves against the delicate panes mingled with the drone of insects in the trees beyond and the low, rhythmic hum of someone snoring upstairs. At a distance the sound was almost soothing, but any closer and it would keep Abe up all night.

That was the worst part of every training camp: trying to sleep. He ended every day exhausted, but Tajima snored and Shiga-sensei was worse, Mizutani never took up less than three futons, and Izumi always ended up spooning anyone who slept too close to him. Mihashi had gotten over his insomnia after their first trip, but he still had a bad habit of tossing, turning, and sprawling out while he slept.

So Abe was stuck outside, sitting on a stump, absently cleaning his catcher’s mitt with a cloth. It was rare for anyone to notice his absence, and he’d found that if he waited long enough, he could usually find a quiet corner to bunker down in until morning. He was always the first person up anyway, and regardless it was better than trying to sleep with Tajima’s foot in his face. As soon as the last light went out, he’d tiptoe back inside, steal a pillow, and finally get some shuteye.

Or at least, that was the plan. Then he heard the soft  _ shick _ of the door around the corner sliding open. He ducked his head and pretended not to hear as the door  _ thunked  _ closed. Maybe whoever it was wouldn’t notice him. Maybe it was just someone letting the dog out? He cursed himself for not thinking to use that excuse himself.

“Ah, Abe, what are you doing out here?”

Hanai. He sounded like  _ he’d  _ been caught at something. Abe sighed and reluctantly turned around, holding up his mitt. “Just cleaning my glove.” It was usually a good excuse – it was something that needed doing, but mundane and uninteresting enough not to invite further question. That was usually all it took to get someone to leave him alone, but Hanai arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“In the middle of the night?”

Abe sighed, setting his glove in his lap. “And I’m sure  _ you’re  _ just out here to get a little fresh air.”

Hanai’s nose crinkled. “You’re not far off. I dunno if it was something we ate, but it  _ stinks _ up there.”

Abe snorted. “Probably the dog. Sakaeguchi and Nishihiro always sneak her table scraps. Makes her gassy.”

Hanai dusted off the top of a stray wooden crate and slumped down onto it, rubbing his face with his hands. “I thought the snoring was bad, but this is…”

Abe hummed an agreement, twisting his cleaning cloth around his fingertip and starting to scrub at his glove again. The first time they’d been up here, he’d spent almost a whole night peeking in cupboards and scouring the house for a room they’d missed, just so he could get a little peace and quiet. And  _ he _ didn’t have Tajima squirrel-climbing all over him while he was trying to sleep.

“I can see why you always sneak out here.”

Abe frowned. Momoe had noticed the first night, but he didn’t think anyone else had. No one else had said anything, at least. “I don’t sneak.”

Hanai shrugged, not arguing the point, and lapsed into silence, gazing up at the sky as Abe resumed his work. Honestly, he didn’t think of it as  _ sneaking _ . If he avoided people noticing him, it was just to spare them any hurt feelings, and spare  _ him _ having people asking him what was wrong when all he needed was a little peace and quiet. It was one thing to be around all the guys every day for school, practice, games…it was something different not to have a door to close between himself and the rest of the world at the end of the day.

“It’s nice out here,” Hanai said eventually. “Quiet.”

“Yeah,” Abe said. It had been a lot quieter a minute ago, but if someone was going to interrupt his alone time, he’d rather it be Hanai than anyone else.  _ Hanai _ never got squirrelly about sitting together in silence, and didn’t have the obsessive need to fill it with idle chatter. Abe cast a sidelong glance at him. He was leaned back against the building, long legs kicked out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Hanai was also one of the only people who knew how to tell Abe to shut up without rubbing in the fact that his big voice (and short temper) sometimes spooked their teammates. Abe cleared his throat, his mother’s voice mentally chiding him that teammates didn’t count as friends if you only ever talked to them about baseball. “So, what’s your plan for the night?”

Hanai shifted his gaze to Abe, considering him. “You don’t snore too, do you?”

“Not that I’ve been told,” Abe said. Not that anyone on the team would have had a chance to hear him, but his family didn’t tease him about it, and he was pretty sure they would if he did.

Hanai hesitated a moment, peering around to make sure they were alone, then uncrossed his arms and held up… a key ring?

Abe tilted his head. “What is that?”

“Bus key,” Hanai whispered.

“What?!” Abe said, a little too loud before catching himself and hissing, “ _ What? _ ”

“Captain privileges,” Hanai said, puffed up and pleased with himself.

Abe stood, tossing his glove on the stump, and plucked the keys out of Hanai’s hand. “But I’m the co-captain. Momoe never gave  _ me _ a key.”

“It’s supposed to be for emergencies,” Hanai explained, taking the keys back. “Like if we need an extra first aid kit or to call for help or something.”

“If Ai-chan and Mizutani are in the same room after what we had for dinner, this  _ is _ an emergency.”

Hanai’s shoulders sagged, either in relief or defeat. “Right?” He peeked up at Abe. “You won’t tell anyone?”

“Not if you let me on that bus. But if you try to pull rank, I’ll send Tajima out here after you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Hanai said, standing up and heading towards the bus. “Not even you’re  _ that _ mean.”

“Mean?” Abe mused under his breath. “I’m not mean.” Hanai laughed, and Abe jogged to catch up to him, hissing, “Hey, come on, I’m not  _ mean _ , am I?”

Hanai stopped and sighed. “You’re not a mean  _ person _ ,” he said in his diplomatic Captain Voice. Abe frowned. “But I wouldn’t want to play against you, and I wouldn’t want to be on your bad side.”

“I have a bad side?” Abe asked, too surprised to be offended.

Hanai gave him a flat look. “Haruna Motoki.” Abe’s ears went hot, and Hanai gave a small nod. Point and match. Abe stared at his feet, trying to scrape together a comeback, while Hanai got the bus door open. “I’m not saying you’re a bad guy,” he said, climbing up the stairs onto the bus. “Honestly, we wouldn’t win half the games we do if it weren’t for the fact that you’re smart and a little cutthroat.”

Abe chewed on that. It didn’t feel quite like a compliment, but it certainly wasn’t an insult. “We have a good team,” he said.

“We have a team,” Hanai said, flopping down on one of the bus seats, legs dangling over the edge. “Tajima can hit and Mihashi can pitch, but they don’t have two brain cells to rub together between them, and as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t really have a head for strategy. I lose my temper under pressure and mess up when it counts. You’re the one that keeps us together in a game.”

Abe snorted, sitting on the edge of the bench across from Hanai. “You think  _ you’re  _ bad under pressure.” Hanai propped himself up on an elbow, looking a question at him. “I make plans. If they go right, great. If not…” Abe shrugged. “I don’t always recover well.”

Hanai made a thoughtful noise, dropping back onto the seat with a thump. “I know what you mean. Mihashi is probably the only one of us that  _ doesn’t _ fall apart if we have a big setback.”

Abe breathed a laugh. “Mihashi is so used to things going wrong, he’s more likely to get thrown off if everything is going smoothly.”

“You say that, but he’s also the one who really believes we’ll win it all.”

Abe grunted, scooting back on the seat to lean against the window. _ Koshien.  _ Every time he thought about it, his mind started racing through stats and charts – seeding brackets, heights, weights, wins and losses, training menus, batting stats, their rate of improvement… a road map of exactly how and when they’d have to win, how far they could push to reach Koshien by their third year. And every time he started tracing potential paths through the next tournament, he had to force himself to stop and try to embrace Mihashi and Tajima’s simple, single-minded confidence that they would just win all the games they played, no problem.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?” Hanai asked, voice small and quiet in the dark.

“I don’t think it matters,” Abe said absently.

Hanai sat up, frowning. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?! I thought you wanted to win!”

“Of course I want to win,” Abe said, waving a hand. “I meant, I don’t think it matters what I think.”

“What?”

Abe shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I could tell you what our chances are against all the teams in the prefecture, just based on the numbers. But if there’s anything I’ve learned since we all started playing together, it’s that a game that should be an easy win isn’t always, and a game that should be a certain loss doesn’t have to be.” He shrugged. “The less time I spend trying to figure out how we can get to Koshien, I think the better chance we have of actually doing it.”

Hanai was looking at him strangely. “You really never stop thinking, do you?”

“Only during batting practice.”

“Liar,” Hanai said. Abe arched an eyebrow, and Hanai pointed at him. “I’ve  _ seen  _ you at batting practice, and either you’re holding in a fart every single time you swing a bat, or you’re, I dunno, calculating the trajectory of the ball and how to best mess up some imaginary outfielder.”

He wasn’t wrong. Abe shrugged. “If I don’t imagine other outfielders, I just end up hitting towards our crap left every time.” Hanai snorted, and Abe sighed, leaning his head back against the window. “Sometimes I try to imagine what Tajima must be thinking about when he hits, but I’ve only gotten as far as Kpop and baseball noises.”

“You sure it’s not just the sound of fans cheering inside his head all the time?”

Abe laughed. “Pretty sure that’s just you. Tajima is the only one that  _ doesn’t _ realize he’s a rock star.”

Hanai made a sour face, crossing his arms over his chest. “I  _ know _ ,” he huffed. “It’s the  _ worst _ .” He slid back down, laying flat on his seat. Abe hummed, sympathetic and agreeing, and closed his eyes. The bus benches weren’t nearly big enough to sleep on comfortably. Sitting up, the edge of the window dug into his back, but it seemed better than trying to sleep with his legs hanging off the edge of the seat, and probably better than getting spooned in a small, smelly room. But after a few minutes, Hanai said, “This was a terrible idea.”

“Do you have a better one?” Abe asked, without opening his eyes. When Hanai didn’t respond, Abe added, “Go sleep on the back bench. It’s longer, and you’re taller than me.”

“…But then I have to get up,” Hanai complained, fatigue blurring the edges of his words.

Abe slid forward and aimed a kick at his shin. “If you fall asleep like that, your legs are going to be jelly tomorrow.”

Hanai groaned, but heaved himself up and moved to the end of the bus. Before he sat down, though, he peeled off his sweatshirt and threw it at Abe’s head. “If  _ you _ fall asleep like  _ that _ , you won’t be able to turn your head in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Abe said, wadding up the sweatshirt and tucking it behind his head as a pillow. “Thanks,” he added.

Hanai grunted, thumping into the sides of the bench seat as he tried to get comfortable. Abe closed his eyes again and settled down into his seat for what promised to be a perfectly mediocre night’s sleep. He was just starting to teeter on the edge of it when Hanai said, quietly, “I don’t know why, but when we’re out here, I really feel like we can do it. Koshien, I mean.” Abe hummed, thoughtful. “Maybe it’s the mountain air making me crazy, or the exhaustion,” he said around a big yawn.

“But for a minute, you can stop overthinking it and just believe we can win?”

Hanai let out a tired laugh. “If  _ you _ can say it, it might actually be true.”

"I  _ am  _ the brains of the operation," Abe mumbled, weighted down by fatigue. But just for once, he didn't try to crunch the numbers, and let himself savor the possibility that maybe, just maybe, their team could go all the way to Koshien.


End file.
